


Pocketful of Posies

by strawberrysoup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark Bruce Banner, Dark Clint Barton, Dark Natasha Romanoff, Dark Peter Parker, Dark Sam Wilson, Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Thor, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Wanda Maximoff, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, M/M, Omega Reader, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Avengers as a pack, Yandere, aka found family, dark bucky barnes, individual tags included by chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrysoup/pseuds/strawberrysoup
Summary: You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Reader, Carol Danvers/Reader, Clint Barton/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Sam Wilson/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader, Thor/Reader, Tony Stark/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Reader
Comments: 323
Kudos: 1294





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter. The Avengers are still superheros in this story, but the social constructs of the universe enable their behavior. This is not a representation of healthy relationships.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, _wanted_ omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, you’d figured your way around that one at least. By the time your first heat had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs _bidding_ on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (that you were _pretty sure_ were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider interacting. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime which Mrs. Hunt _loved_ (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the _amazing_ reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any _questions_ either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong. You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

_“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”_

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

_“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”_

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder, “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

_“Now even if you aren’t its okay,”_ the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge, _“I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”_

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer, “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

_“Don’t forget your bucket too!”_ Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, _“I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”_

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen.

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose, “did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air, “the house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye—you had no time for such _consideration._

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was _bad._ Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of _panicking omega._

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes, “would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You _did not like_ that his nose was especially sensitive and you _hated_ that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm, “thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were six massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the 5 bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, _immediately._ You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a skillfully faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off _waves_ of pheromones, to a point that your head floated for a moment. Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way, “sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly _not moving._

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air, “nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders, “but not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin, “are you _sure?”_

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as an alpha command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to _nicely_ draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, _submit, submit, make alpha happy_ and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was _rumbling_ instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking, “everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you, “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver, “sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… chemically beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently, “are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks, “where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega, “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans, “there’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation. There was an array of emotions swimming through you as his hand popped the button and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was, obviously, a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties, “it’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, _you couldn’t._ Even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge, “a nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam, “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him, “please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting the mouthful of blood you’d collected directly into his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering  
> Slow to start, but things'll pick up soon I promise. If you liked this please drop a comment, my soul is empty and can only be filled with praise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

You had been manhandled often in your life; even if you’d managed to pass as a beta for more than a decade, you weren’t strong and couldn’t stand your ground in the face of an alpha three times your size. Steve had sucked his fingers clean and hefted you up into his arms, following Bruce back into the cabin and down into the basement—you hadn’t been allowed to clean the basement, it was one of the off-limits areas that were noted in your many instructions. _If a door is locked, leave it alone. No cleaning is necessary in the basement, garage, or third floor. Wash the linens with a scent free detergent. Make sure the refrigerator is properly scrubbed out._

He’d left you on a metal countertop with instructions to _be good for Bruce._ You weren’t sure what that entailed but as soon as the blond left the room, your mind started to race. There was no way you could get away from Steve, Sam you could potentially outrun, but Bruce? Being left alone with the beta was the best thing they could’ve done for you. You could get away from Bruce.

“Have you been to see a doctor recently?” His voice was gentle, intended to be soothing as he came to stand in front of you, “any check-ups, clinic visits?”

You knew there was blood drying on your cracked lips, cutting a jarring path down your throat. The taste was still in your mouth, you’d gouged your tongue and it was still actively bleeding. With that in mind you made direct eye contact with the beta before letting the mouthful spill over your bottom lip and drip down your front, hoping the gore would help emphasize your opinions on the situation.

“Sweetheart, I _know_ you’re upset—”

“Why is she bleeding!?” It was like getting punched in the face by alpha pheromones, the moment the door to the room opened again and a much younger alpha stepped through.

Before you or Bruce could respond you’d been swept up in the alpha’s arms. He was a few years younger than you, early twenties probably and being manhandled by a _fetus_ was particularly bothersome. His scent kept you still for a few seconds before you started squirming, making a beta-like snarl while he corralled your limbs.

“Here Pete, can you sit with her over here? We need a blood draw and full work up, her natural hormones have probably been devastated by the chemicals in the suppressants she was taking,” Bruce gestured for the alpha to carry you to a metal table, likely meant to be used for some sort of experiments if the rest of the room was anything to judge by, “all of her reproductive organs could’ve been affected, I’ll need to do a pelvic exam. We’ll run an STD panel and—”

“No! I don’t consent!” Your voice came out as a growl, the best one you could manage, “this is false imprisonment! Let go of me you fucking knothead! This is illegal!”

The alpha started to purr immediately and you found yourself rendered boneless under the onslaught. It was startling—you’d forgotten how it felt, how calm and safe it made you feel. Alpha purrs were meant to soothe and comfort, the tones perfectly adjusted to the omega ear. They also caused a completely involuntary reaction in omegas, the same as all other alpha sounds. You had no _choice_ but to feel relaxed, the white noise of a purr jumbling your thoughts.

Bruce smiled down at you, hand running over the top of your head where it rested against the alpha’s chest, “it’s okay, you don’t have to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you, I just want to make sure you’re healthy.”

“Isn’t that better baby?” The alpha sat back on the table and pulled you to sit between his legs, tucked close to his chest, “And unless you have a guardian alpha, it’s not illegal. We’re doing our civic duty, taking care of an omega in unsafe conditions.”

The worst part of it was that you couldn’t fight; you couldn’t find your way out of the calm static the purr produced in your brain. Even when Bruce started taking multiple vials of blood from your left arm, when he opened your mouth to check the damage to your tongue, _when they started undressing you_ , you couldn’t fight. It was a hazy sort of half thought, that you wanted them to stop. It must’ve been apparent in your eyes, that you were trying to work your way out of the purr’s effects.

“Shhhh, sweetheart, you’re alright,” Bruce murmured quietly as his hands pressed the glands in your neck, fingers brushing gently against the scent gland in particular, “no swelling in your thyroid or mating nodes, that’s good. Suppressants can really cause problems in your hormone glands; the blood tests will tell us for sure but it looks like you might’ve dodged the worst of it if nothing’s enflamed. How long have you been on suppressants?”

Answering was the last thing on your mind, your eyes slowly roving over the room instead. It was some sort of lab set up, tons of machines and parts of machines, technology you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Bruce had been taking things from one particular cabinet that seemed to hold medical supplies, the rest of the place resembling a robotics factory or some kind of high-tech research and development lab. The doors had swished open automatically when Steve brought you in and when the new alpha came through. Who had automatic doors in a vacation home?

“Should I stop?” The alpha questioned the doctor, chest continuing to rumble, “I might be making her too calm I guess.”

“No, just keep doing what you’re doing Peter,” Bruce sighed slightly, “there’s too much coherence in her eyes as it is, I don’t know if the purr affects her as much as it should. I’m worried that if you weren’t enhanced it wouldn’t work at all. Look at me sweetie, can you focus on face?”

His hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head carefully while watching your eyes. You couldn’t find the energy to focus on his face; you couldn’t imagine the purr affecting you _more_ than it currently was and dreaded the idea that it could be _worse._ What did enhanced mean? Like the superheroes you’d been hearing about? You didn’t keep up much on current events, except things that had an impact on Omega Rights.

“I’m sure it’s a result of the beta chemicals dampening her omega instincts,” Peter shifted you slightly as Bruce exchanged his gloves for a new pair, “once her body starts producing hormones on its own again she should revert back to common responses to alpha stimuli.”

“You’re probably right, we’ll know for sure once I get the blood results,” Bruce gestured for Peter to sit up more, bringing your limp body with him, “I’m going to do a breast exam and a pelvic exam and we’re done. There are some other tests I want to run but I don’t have the equipment on hand so they’ll have to wait until Tony manages to get here. Peter, can you help move her arms?”

You felt like you almost managed to swim through the purr, rage fueling you as hands manipulated your breasts. The exam itself was clinical, professional even—or it would’ve been if he hadn’t been _cooing_ at you the whole time, how good you were being, how sweet you were, _how pretty your breasts were._ Peter had hummed in agreement along with the doctor, his nose trailing up and down your neck _._ Your hands clenched into fists and you could feel Peter’s grip on your wrists shift with the movement.

“Calm down, baby,” the alpha’s voice cooed gently against the side of your head, lips pressing into your hair as Bruce shifted away and went for the medical cabinet again, “this is important. Suppressants could’ve caused tons of problems and cancerous growths in sexual organs or secondary sex characteristics is very common.”

 _Death would be a reprieve._ The same thought that crossed your mind any time you considered the potential effects of suppressants. A reprieve from the hiding, the exhaustion, from living out of your car or a tent, from eating garbage because it was all you could afford—from the constant threat of having your autonomy ripped from your hands.

You relaxed your fists until you felt his grip loosen again, even if only slightly. Your only chance would be to rely on surprise and your speed, there was no other way you’d be able to get away. Forcing your body to relax was a trial though, adrenaline was starting to course through you the more you became used to the effects of the purr. Your scent was still massively dampened by the suppressants, Peter likely wouldn’t be able to smell the shift from fear to anticipation. You bit down on the sluggishly bleeding wound on your tongue, reigniting both the pain and blood flow.

“Alright, last part, we’re almost done and then we’ll get you comfortable, okay?” Bruce was wearing new gloves again, a bottle in hand as he walked back over, “have you had a pelvic exam before?”

You waited until he was close enough and performed what seemed to be your go to act of defiance: spitting a huge wad of blood directly into his face. He reared back with a short curse, Peter immediately releasing your wrists—his goal was likely to readjust you in his lap, to gain a better hold, but you were fast. You’d slipped from his lap and darted for the automatic doors before either of them could respond. Running through the woods naked was the lesser evil.

Steel bands. You should’ve noticed, the doors opened too soon for them to be reacting to your presence, you were so focused on _getting through._ But the moment you did, it felt like steel bands wrapped around your torso, pinning your arms.

The alpha’s scent was like Steve’s—the moment your brain registered it the world went hazy. You were floating, body going limp for a precious few seconds that the alpha used to sweep you into his arms and stalk further into the room. Your senses came back just in time for you to be deposited back into Peter’s lap on the table, a massive blond alpha coming into view for the first time. Your gaze was immediately stuck on his, the heterochromatic eyes nearly hypnotizing. Fighting the daze he put you in was overwhelming, especially when a wide smile split his lips and his cheeks dimpled. One massive hand reached out, almost engulfing the entire lower half of your face.

“Hello little love.” Were alphas always as insanely massive as this one and Steve, or had you just stumbled across literally your worst nightmare? “They told me you’re a flighty thing, I suppose I arrived just in time, hm? Are you going to spit blood in my face as well? It seems to be your calling card.”

The look on your face must’ve betrayed the fact that you were really, _really_ considering spitting in his face. You had a mouthful of blood and nowhere to put it _but_ his face, honestly. Instead you used the fact that Peter was mostly propping you up to lean over the edge of the table and proceeded to open your mouth, spilling blood down onto the alpha’s shoes nice white shoes.

“I wouldn’t challenge her,” Bruce’s voice drew your attention to where he was using a towel to wipe blood off his glasses, a wry smile and affection clear on his face, “she’s putting a lot of effort into being belligerent.”

The blond alpha rumbled with a grin, thumb brushing across your cheekbone, “it’s been a stressful day for her, there’s nothing she can do that will cause any persisting damage anyway. Let her have her little rebellions.”

You wanted to be furious—what kind of _asshole_ looked a person dead in the eyes and called their attempts to escape false imprisonment _little rebellions?—_ but Peter seemed to have realized where your train of thought had gone because he started purring immediately. Your spine went boneless, laying you flat against his chest.

“Can you lean up against the wall with her?” Bruce directed the younger alpha to shift until both of your legs were dangling over the edge, Peter’s back to the wall the table sat against, “You’re going to need to hold her in place, even while you purr. Alright sweetie, let’s get this out of the way. Thor, will you hold her leg please?”

The sound you made was an accident. Desperation and humiliation were crawling up your spine with astounding speed, even with Peter’s purr going like a motorboat. Omega cries were a deliberate counterpart to the noises alphas made; whines and cries and hisses, perfectly pitched to make an alpha’s hindbrain stand at attention. The sound you made was a sharp, chirping whine— _distress, distress, distress, help me, help me help m—_

“Oh little love,” Thor’s voice had dropped several registers and he gently shuffled Bruce to the side so he could stand in front of you, slipping as close to the table as possible and tugging your legs to rest on either side of his hips and gently running his hands over your skin, “let’s get you taken care of, you need rest.”

The pheromones he was putting out were meant to calm but you immediately opened your mouth, the smell of your own blood blocking his intentions. The alpha sighed and stepped aside again, taking your leg with him and spreading your thigh to rest over Peter’s leg with your foot planted on the table. A whine rose in your throat again but you locked it down, instead biting down on your tongue once again. It was as grounding as it was painful, the tang of it souring your stomach.

It was your last coherent thought, that you were starting to feel nauseous. Thor began to purr just after that and the sound was entirely overwhelming, bone deep and you went completely limp, your head falling to the side against Peter’s chest and your shoulders dropping. This is what acid felt like, you were pretty sure.

Your eyes lazily followed Bruce’s path as the doctor took his place between your legs again, lifting the other into a matching position. Some part of you was fully aware of how devastating this was; completely naked and spread wide in front of two alphas and a beta, a situation you’d rather kill yourself than be in, but your brain couldn’t follow any emotional tethers while Thor purred. The doctor was speaking, you could feel his hands manipulating your vulva, but you couldn’t understand anything coming out of his mouth.

Peter’s hand came to your chin and tilted your head back until you could see him, smiling down at you. His mouth moved, your eyes almost able to track the movement of his lips enough to read them but your brain gave up halfway through. The two alphas were chuckling over something but you were distracted by the discomfort of something being inserted into your vagina. A sharp yip escaped your lips, your body still completely boneless as your eyes rolled down.

“It’s a speculum, sweetie, I’m sorry it’s uncomfortable,” it sounded like Bruce was talking underwater and you could almost feel his breath on your thigh, “just a few more seconds while I get a pap smear.”

More discomfort came before the instrument was removed, another yip leading Peter to purr along side Thor. The rest of the exam was a blur, slippery fingers and pressure and foreign sensations. You could barely think, let alone realize that Bruce was finishing up the manual exam, when your eyes noticed movement behind them. You couldn’t really make out anything, nothing would focus, but you assumed it was Steve and Sam.

There were more voices but you couldn’t _hear_ anything for an indeterminate amount of time. It wasn’t until Thor stopped purring again that you were able to start regaining your senses, as much as the continuing rumbling in Peter’s chest would allow. The difference between the sounds the two alphas produced was marked by your sudden ability to focus your eyes, to concentrate on voices, the way your muscular control was slowly returning.

You were almost glad the young alpha was still purring—it meant that the spike of terror that tried to shoot through you was somewhat dulled, enough that it wouldn’t show in your scent. Sam and Steve had indeed come in, accompanied by a young woman with long auburn hair and porcelain skin, a beta from the scent. As soon as she made eye contact with you she smiled vibrantly, slipping forward and sneaking between your still spread thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, long fingers stroking absently against your neck as she leaned in, forcing your back tighter against Peter’s chest, “will you let me see your trauma my love?”

Some sort of red miasma filled your vision, a fog you quickly realized was coming from her hands—and realization slammed into you like a freight train. You seen that before, in passing. And then the recognition made you nauseous— _Thor._ You didn’t keep up with current events, but certain names you couldn’t miss. Thor, Tony Stark, Captain America. Your eyes flashed to the blond man standing towards the back of the room; Captain America, _Steve Rogers._

Desperation shot through your body like you’d been tazed. Your foot shot out of Thor’s hold, the alpha hadn’t been putting any actual effort into holding you still since you’d been so dazed, and connected with the woman’s chest to send her reeling. Before anyone else could respond, your throat rasped for several seconds before a warbling shriek escaped. The four alphas in the vicinity reacted like they’d been shot; Thor and Steve both stumbled back, Sam’s knees practically gave out, sending him careening into the wall. Behind you, Peter, far too close to the source, immediately went limp.

There were several distress calls an omega could make. Most of the time, they were whines or chirps, noises meant to draw attention from packmates. They were small, careful sounds—nothing loud enough to attract attention from a foreign alpha. Omegas were quarry to be stolen, after all, which was precisely why they had one, singular method of defending themselves against alphas: a shriek.

When in close proximity, the sound was loud enough and tuned _just so_ to daze an alpha’s hindbrain. The evolutionary explanation was that a loud shriek meant that an omega being confronted by an aggressive alpha could both temporarily stun their attacker and summon assistance—alphas or deltas, far enough away that the negative effects were nullified but within proximity to hear that an omega was in danger. The assumption being, of course, that an omega who shrieked was in danger from a _stranger,_ not a packmate.

It only worked for a very short time though, any alpha or delta in the area would immediately converge on the omega’s location and deal with the problem **—** it was the reason you hadn’t used it outside. There was no reason for the effects to last when it summoned immediate assistance, though, and that meant you needed to _move_. You slid off the table, bare feet slapping tile as you just barely managed to dodge Bruce’s grasp. The woman, the witch from the news, was on the floor clutching her sternum.

The stairs were a blur, so was the foyer and the driveway. You hesitated at your car for all of ten seconds before running for the forest; your keys were in the pocket of your jeans, back down in the basement. Abandoning all of your possessions hurt somewhere deep in your heart but there wasn’t any time for sentiment. You had to get away, _quickly._

Luckily the woods had become your home a long time ago. You moved between the trees silently, feet so heavily calloused from constantly going barefoot that you didn’t even notice the twigs and sharp stones digging into your flesh. Your brain shot into overtime. You needed to steal clothes, then cash. You’d lived with nothing for years, you could do it again for however long you needed to. The only thing you really needed was suppressants; everything else was a luxury.

You assumed they were behind you, you’d been running for a good three minutes. The straight path meant they could follow you easier but the goal had to be the maximum distance possible rather than the most strategic pattern.

All you had to do was keep quiet until you could find one of the creeks running through the forest—so close to Lake Superior there was water everywhere. You would run through the creek in several different places, to mask your scent and make it difficult to follow. It wouldn’t be hard to find a hunting blind or shack, a hole in the ground was better than going back there. The moment your eyes caught on running water you dove into it, covering yourself with mud before jumping back up to continue running. 

Captain America was super fast and you’d bet the rest of them were similar, you needed more distance. Somewhere in the back of your mind, prey behavior was setting in. Natural selection had driven your existence, you were the result of thousands of years of evolution, and the life you’d lived meant you were far more adapted to being hunted than most omegas. You were vulnerable but not helpless and as you coated yourself in more mud from a different part of the creek, chemosensory instincts started rattling through you. 

They were coming. Your scent was inhibited by the suppressant’s and that made it harder for them to follow you but they were doing their best. Combined with the water, the mud, your scent was very difficult to pin down. You contemplated climbing a tree to hide, but remembered how keen the noses of the pack following you were. You kept running, covering yourself in mud two more times, before finding a tree with a massive tangle of roots at the bottom. Fighting whatever creature had made a home down there was worth it—it went deep, was heavily covered by underbrush and detritus from the trees, but most importantly it was surrounded by wild bergamot in full bloom. 

It smelled lovely, spicy and floral with a citrusy overtone. You crawled through the dirt, wiggling between the roots and carefully avoiding crushing any plants or branches that could give you away. Whatever was living in there was out, likely foraging, and you took the creature’s absence to your advantage and pressed as far back into the burrow as possible. 

You weren’t tired, despite the long, exhausting day and the _fucking trauma._ Another small grace that adaption had provided was that once an omega began producing adrenaline, sleep became unnecessary—it was actually considered a very unenviable omega trait in the general population, but you’d found it’s uses worth the unpleasant side effects. Your heart would continue to race for the next several hours, your pupils wouldn’t return to normal potentially for days and your blood sugar had sky rocketed which would be very unpleasant for far longer than you’d like to endure.

The waiting was going to hurt—there was nothing to pass the time and you had to actively focus on not being terrified or your omega scent could seep through, what was it now? _Five coats of mud from the creek, a significant amount of bergamot, and fifteen years of whatever the fuck suppressants did to your scent over time._

It wasn’t ten minutes later that you heard them. Stealth wasn’t their objective, that was clear from the amount of noise they made. You could hear Steve and Peter calling your name, although you didn’t know how they knew it. Thor was speaking, his tone low but certainly not quiet. They weren’t even moving that fast, walking almost _leisurely._

“She’ll need to bathe and eat. Clint and Natasha are finishing up in New York. Steve, have you heard from Tony or Bucky? Carol?” 

“Tony’s wrapping up, should be flying over pretty soon. Carol and Bucky were on their way up but I gave them a list of things to grab while they’re going through the bigger cities. Shouldn’t be too much longer for them either though.” 

Steve and Thor were different than Sam or Peter. You couldn’t pin down exactly what had set your teeth on edge, but the scent the two blond alphas gave off was _different._ Their pheromones were worse, more infectious. Eye contact with Steve had made your hindbrain _beg_ to go to him, regardless of rational explanation. You could remember the feel of Thor’s hand on like it was seared into your skin, _you wanted him to never not be touching you ever again—_

If you could’ve slapped yourself without making noise you would’ve. The stupid omega in your brain, that dumb, easy _cunt_ was going to get you killed. You sealed your lips, clenched your teeth and tucked your hands under your bent knees. Night was starting to fall to your benefit, the shadows were getting darker. You were so far back they would have to crouch down and crawl half way in to see you.

If you could keep your wits until they passed you could double back, trying to find your keys would be a wash but you could grab clothes from the back of your ancient Tahoe. You weren’t sure how long you’d been in the basement, but you didn’t think it was long enough for them to have gone through your things.

“Could she have gotten this far?” You held your breath as Sam stopped far too close to your hiding place for comfort.

“Omegas are fast and she seemed faster than most,” Bruce answered. “We’ll know for sure once her blood work comes back, but from her physiology I’d say she presents as a classical omega. She’s probably the first in her family in a long, long time. To have a scream that loud in this day and age? The omega gene must’ve been skipped so long that there was no chance for it to adapt to modern omega qualities.”

“There’ve been some studies suggesting that the classical omega attributes are making a come back in the general population,” Peter’s voice came from much farther away, “they haven’t been peer reviewed enough yet and they haven’t been replicated en masse because they don’t have enough subjects, alphas aren’t exactly thrilled to have their omegas studied—”

“The lack of data aside, I assume there’s a correlation between the alphas willing to allow their omegas to participate and the behavior of the omega in question. Do you think—”

“Focus, Bruce,” Steve’s voice was light with affection, “the point is that yes, she could’ve gotten this far or farther. The way she keeps running into the creek is messing up the footprints and—”

Their voices faded as they continued the same linear path you’d been running earlier. The fact that they didn’t even sound _a little_ concerned that you could get away was both insulting and unnerving. You didn’t need alphas having that kind of _confidence_ regarding your behavior— _and why weren’t they moving any faster?_ The paranoia was immediate and overwhelming, what did they know about that you didn’t? Something they assumed would hinder you farther along in the woods? Something they were planning for when they found you. _When._

You forced yourself to count slowly to six hundred, waiting what you hoped was a full ten minutes before silently crawling out of your hide. Their scents were everywhere, you could smell where Sam had been standing almost directly over the opening in the roots. They were still too close for comfort and you turned, running back through the forest. Your feet were starting to feel sore, usually you’d at least watch where you stepped but there just wasn’t time—you had to get away before they could enact their plans.

The clearing the cabin sat in was coming up and you forced yourself to slow as you approached the tree line, keeping a careful eye out for the beta woman. You couldn’t remember what her call sign was, something to do with witches, and you definitely didn’t want her using that red magic stuff on your head.

The extra seconds of waiting paid off, watching her pace the porch for a few moments before her phone rang. She answered, walking inside and closing the doors behind her. You didn’t wait an extra second, darting across the clearing to where you car was sitting in the driveway with the trunk popped. They must’ve started going through your things but stopped part of the way through.

You could see one of your go bags though, squished between your rolled up sleeping bag and tent. The straps of the bag squeaked with how hard you yanked it out, hesitating slightly—instinct told you to leave the sleeping bag, but you’d grown used to the luxury of it and leaving the stupid thing behind made you decidedly sad. You tossed the straps of the go bag over your shoulder and turned away, knowing it would slow you down and—

There was an Iron Man suit standing directly behind you, gauntlets rested on the hips and the head cocked to the side. You froze, as if staying still could prevent it from noticing you. _Fuck, you hoped there wasn’t a man in there._ A stupid thought, you considered as you stared silently, trying to decide if there was any way out. Hope was a joke at this point but you didn’t _have_ anything else.

“Hi princess,” it was a distinctly human voice, if filtered, “hope I didn’t miss too much of the fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: nonconsensual medical treatment, general noncon touching/assault
> 
> im desperately hoping this lives up to the standards the first chapter apparently set my dudes, fingers crossed i don’t lose any of you with this one 🤞🤞 also before we get started for real i just wanna let yall know i am very firmly set in my decisions for the designations and i do not apologize lmao 🤙 pls remember to leave comments, they fuel the writing fires


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no additional warnings for this one

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the _gall_ to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous. 

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous. 

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators. 

He’d never been called a _manipulator_ before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… _cunning_ than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms _suave_ or _charismatic,_ if he was being honest. Deltas were _charming,_ dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him. 

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.” 

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it. 

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.” 

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?” 

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, _very_ few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.” 

“ _Or,”_ Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went _extremely_ scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.” 

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.” 

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity. 

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?” 

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a _fucking machete_ from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?” 

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.” 

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.” 

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.” 

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.” 

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags. 

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.” 

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.” 

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.” 

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.” 

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.” 

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.” 

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?” 

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.” 

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint. 

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—” 

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any _nonsense,_ “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.” 

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances. 

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through _while_ she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on _provoked,_ “and you were being antagonistic.” 

“I was _not,_ I was just—” 

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond. 

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.” 

“You don’t even know what _charm_ is yah fuckin’ grifter.” 

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence. 

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.” 

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?” 

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.” 

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “ _Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—_ what the fuck, _Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates._ I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.” 

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.” 

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.” 

“They _are_ library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?” 

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.” 

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.” 

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.” 

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.” 

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.” 

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?” 

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.” 

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega— _their_ omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival. 

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things. 

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s _struggled_ when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega. 

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently. 

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom. 

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head. 

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined. She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.” 

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—” 

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.” 

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by _his_ clothing first. 

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He _missed_ the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien ( _especially_ if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles. 

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and _scented._ He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first. 

It was a _good thing_ he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, _he needed to prove he deserved it more—_ Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime. 

“Sure thing, any in particular?” 

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.” 

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s _mingled_ scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, _communicated like real people._ The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d _known_ there was something _too much_ about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t _share._ They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out _quickly,_ before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait guys-- been goin through some shit in RL and this story is really stressful? never thought id be overwhelmed by a fanfic but here we are lmao. thank you so so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter, ill go through and respond to as many as i can in just a few. hope you liked this chapter, it was a bitch and a half.


	4. Chapter 4

You wondered idly at his eyes, glancing between the brown and the blue with the kind of intent that betrayed the anxiety welling in your chest. His hair was short too, the last time you’d seen him in the papers it had been long. He was incredibly, _uncomfortably_ handsome and your heart pounded, that stupid bitch lurking in your hindbrain was practically preening under his stare.

“Are you coming back to me little love?” He asked softly, frowning when you flinched back—you were so _traumatized,_ the alpha couldn’t imagine what had happened to you, “focus on me now.”

“Her eyes clear?” Peter’s voice echoed slightly, coming from above, “they were so cloudy earlier.”

“Much clearer,” the blue eye and the brown eye crinkled at the corners, the blond smiling down at you in his arms as he made his way up a set of stairs, “I’d wager you’re even listening to me by this point.”

“Everyone needs to go through their clothes and pick out some things to offer up for the nest,” Steve didn’t sound like he was talking _to_ anyone, rather to the room at large, but the prime’s voice coming from further than Peter’s, “she’ll need lots of options, we might have to fix them up for the first few weeks.”

“How is your nest building instinct, my love?” Thor rumbled, the sound traveling through his chest and vibrating down to your bones, “hopefully better than your submissive instinct, hm?”

There was a snorted laugh you couldn’t ascribe to anyone in particular and the whole thing made you bristle, every hair on your body was standing on end. Did they think it was funny? You were shattering into pieces, shards swept into a hurricane and scattered. You weren’t wearing your own clothes, your own skin didn’t smell right. Everything was wrong, sitting 10° off the proper axis. The thoughts spiraled —they would find all of your suppressant stashes, all of your weapons, the few things you’d taken when you ran away from home. Every second you spent in this house, your odds of escape plummeted.

You were transferred to a different pair of massive arms, Steve carefully restraining yours to your sides when you started to squirm and hushing you softly, “shh, precious, you’re okay. Let’s get you settled in. Thor, Nat just texted Carol that she and Clint should be here in the next half hour. Any ideas on Loki?”

The surface he laid you on was one of the softest things you’d ever felt. Your body practically melted over the ultra-comfortable mattress, white noise filling your brain with static for several long moments. When you came too, you instinctively inhaled deeply through your nose before yawning so hard your jaw cracked. If only there wasn’t a fucking _alpha prime_ laying on his side directly next to you, one arm settled with a comforting pressure over your waist while the other propped his head up, you’d be quite comfortable.

A sudden flash of light jolted you from your fuzzy state, sitting upright abruptly only for the blond to firmly and smoothly force your back to the mattress again. His fingers traced swirls into the skin of your waist while he shushed you and you winced when his hand travelled higher over your ribs, thumb brushing a goosebump inducing arc over your flesh.

“S-stop,” your voice cracked as you reached down, pressing firmly against his arm—blood draining from your face as you realized his arm kept the hem of the oversized shirt you wore pulled far over your waist, “oh my God, get off—”

“Loki should be here shortly, I contacted him just after she ran out of the lab,” Thor stated from where he stood at the edge of what you realized was a bed the size of most bedrooms.

It was built into the floor in the corner of the room, a sea of pillows scattered across the surface and mixed in with blankets and sheets. It smelled—you realized you felt lightheaded almost, surrounded by the scent of the two alpha primes and their entire pack, it smelled so overwhelming. The back of your mind screamed that it smelled _good,_ it smelled painfully and damningly good.

“I brought up some bags.”

Your head snapped to the stairs, watching a man with short brown hair come into view. He was shorter than Steve or Thor but still taller than Peter, built similarly to the finely toned young alpha. There was no extra bulk to the man, although you could see the bulge of his muscles through his long sleeved shirt. A delta, you would guess at a distance; there was plenty of dominance in his stance, but the he looked built to seduce rather than restrain.

Steve’s arm tightened around your torso, fingers carefully cupping the curve of your ribcage and pressing you more firmly into the bed. The prime was all too obviously meant to restrain, especially as he shifted, manipulating your uncooperative limbs until you were cradled in his lap while he sat against the wall behind the bed. His grasp was so entirely inflexible that you wondered what his bones were made of, his muscles—he didn’t strain for a moment, not even when you attempted to throw your entire body weight to the side.

“Any of those got a collar in ‘em, Buck?”

The prime’s hand came down over your mouth just seconds before you shrieked. The muffled noise sent shivers down the spines of the alphas in the room, the one holding you no exception. It wasn’t sufficient though, the pitch was critical to the sound’s efficacy and you couldn’t reach the proper volume. Lips pressed firmly into the side of your head, Steve still holding you so carefully you could barely move.

“Got a couple, here,” the brunet man, Buck, dug through the plastic shopping bags he’d set on the floor near the wall.

“Hey, hey, come on baby,” Peter had an obvious and serious aversion to your discomfort, emphasized by the way he quickly slipped onto the bed and plastered himself against Steve’s side so that he could wrap his arms around you, “they’re not choke or shock or spike collars, I promise they’re just pretty omega collars Bucky and Carol picked out. You’ll feel so much safer with a collar on, omega. Just hold still.”

The shift from Steve holding you down to Peter was almost unnoticeable, a shocking revelation. You swore you could sit on the kid and he’d end up a pancake, there was no way he should be able to hold you in place while you tried to thrash. One of his legs crossed over yours in Steve’s lap, the young alpha contorting you both until your forehead touched his and your body was curled with your neck extended. The hand over your mouth shifted and the scents changed, the newest addition belonging to the delta who must’ve been on the bed behind you.

“Here you go doll,” his voice was gravelly, a strange tone that sounded almost underused with a very slight burr that reminded you of an alpha’s purr—minus the calming pheromones.

“In the meantime,” Thor joined the crowd on the bed, shifting to settle just to Peter’s right and carefully avoiding Steve’s outstretched legs, “ _No shrieking,_ little love.”

The alpha command washed over you like tar, your chest seizing. Your vocal cords felt suspended, the more you tried to shriek the more painful the sensation got. The hand that hand been over your mouth slipped down to your chin, tipping your head back carefully as leather circled your neck. A reedy, whistling whine escaped your lips and Peter’s cheek was immediately rubbing against your face, down your neck and over the collar being tightened around your throat. He was scenting you, trying to provide comfort by drenching your skin with a protective perfume.

“Oh baby don’t make that sound,” he murmured, lips brushing over your face as the others shifted around the pair of you, “it’s for your own good, omega—”

“No!” Your voice rasped with the cry, “get it off! I won’t stay here, I won’t—”

“Regulate your breathing, precious, the collar will make you feel more secure,” in the shift Steve had ended up with you sitting on the bed between his legs, his ankles crossed to trap your lower body tightly while his fingers twined with yours to restrain your arms, “maybe it needs to be tighter? Bucky, is it pressing the hormone glands firmly enough?”

There was some shuffling and mumbling and you whined as the collar got a notch tighter, only slightly restricting your breathing. It was just this side of uncomfortable, walking the edge of distressing and you were forced to quickly calm your frantic breaths lest you hyperventilate—there was no telling what they’d do if you passed out, if you couldn’t control your breathing and fainted. You could feel the leather pressing the nodes on either side of your neck, causing a reaction that pumped your body full of chemicals. They were meant to induce intimacy and trust in an omega while alleviating stress, the constant oxytocin and endorphin production that flooded the system resulting in a low-grade addiction. Or so you’d hypothesized.

Omega physiology was a trash compactor of undesirable traits but the hormone set up was abhorrent, the limbic system an evolutionary disaster—two pituitary glands, two scent glands, and the thyroid were all located in the neck, the hypothalamus in the brain with the hippocampus and amygdala. You didn’t know the history of the collars, you didn’t have a head for timelines, but you knew that omega subjugation wouldn’t be so easy or convenient without them. It was like long term sedation with highly addictive chemicals; omegas didn’t stand a chance when their own body’s chemistry was used against them.

“This is inhumane,” you managed to choke out, between the rage and fear and high the collar caused you could barely keep your teeth from chattering, “I’m a human being, of sound mind—I can think for myself and protect myself­—I don’t need or want a pack, I don’t— _fuck,_ please listen to me!”

Your voice was weak and raspy, no wonder the omegas you always saw were so docile; your breathing was somewhat restricted, your vocal cords unable to reach full range. Even if Thor hadn’t given an alpha order you wouldn’t have been able to shriek, speaking was _exhausting._ The command would wear off in an hour or two and it wouldn’t even make a difference. How were you supposed to argue your suitability for autonomy if you couldn’t talk?

“Of course you’re of sound mind, love—”

“No, shut up!” You croaked, eyes flashing to Thor’s surprised face, “ _listen._ Would you treat a beta this way? If I was any other presentation this behavior would be abhorrent—it would be illegal! Please, you’re superheros aren’t you? Be rational, for a moment, please!”

You didn’t realize Bruce had joined the group in the attic until he spoke, “betas don’t have a physiological requirement for physical contact with other presentations, sweetheart.”

A green light went off in your brain, a shine in your eyes as you looked at the doctor, “w-wait, wait I would argue—” your voice cut out for a second and you cleared your throat the best you could, desperation sitting in your stomach, “I would argue that your wording is inherently biased. Omegas don’t have a physiological requirement for contact with other presentations; their bodies require chemicals that it doesn’t naturally produce, the same way we require amino acids to survive—”

“You know your stuff, don’t you princess? Where’d you go to school?” Tony Stark emerged into the attic, still wearing the immaculately pressed suit he’d been in earlier, “you know, before you dropped out and went into hiding.”

“It’s disrespectful to interrupt someone when they’re speaking, you duplicitous bastard,” you spat, the presence of yet another delta setting your teeth on edge.

“Oh yeah, hey Buck did you meet y/n? She really hates deltas,” he was grinning, the asshole.

“Is y/n your real name, sweetheart?” Bruce asked, tossing Tony a stern look, “We found several IDs in your things, all different names. The contract we got from the cleaning agency listed your name as y/n.”

It took you a moment to think through the question—and another minute after that to remember which name you used while in Ontario. You real first name, fake last name. Fake age, maybe? Or was that the Quebec ID? Did your real name even matter at this point? It had been so long since it had meant anything to you (other than being the easiest name to respond to properly, but you could train yourself to answer to anything).

“My name is inconsequential,” you finally responded, eyebrows furrowing, “we’re debating the ethics of _kidnapping people,_ remember?”

“That sounds like biased wording if I’ve ever heard it,” Stark snorted, “try _preventing a vulnerable omega from being killed in the streets.”_

“Over dramatic, no basis for fact, _denied,”_ you snapped angrily, quickly turning your attention to Bruce, “come on, listen man! You’re subjugating the entire omega population based on inherently incorrect medical assumptions from two hundred years ago or something! The only scientific causation between modern omega theory and actual omega statistics is that the overall population of omegas has dropped dramatically since the induction of Omega Law!”

“There’s no proof that’s causation, sweetheart,” Bruce’s arms were crossed over his chest, “the odds lie in the favour of correlation.”

“We would know if _any_ studies had been done! There have been less than twenty official studies regarding omega biology in the last ten years!” Begging—you were begging, you could hear it, “there haven’t been _any_ studies done regarding the effects of the other presentation’s interference in omega behavior on their physiology! We know more about Olinguitos than we do omega’s chemistry and those’ve only existed in main stream science circles for the last six years!”

“You need to calm down omega,” Steve’s voice was one octave away from a purr, “you’re getting frantic and your heart rate is through the roof. You’re going to hyperventilate.”

“Y’all think she might be more comfortable if she wasn’t being surrounded on all sides by strangers?” Sam asked sarcastically from the stairway as he came up with a tray, his facial expression riding the fence between irritated and amused, “Peter, Bucky, back up guys. Thor, you really gotta be _right there_ when Steve’s got the poor thing completely restrained?”

Hope was like a gut punch, bile rushing up your throat only for you to swallow it back down—gulping with the collar around your neck caused enough discomfort that you realized eating was going to be difficult. Your eyes locked on Sam as the bodies around you shuffled once again. Bucky and Peter both slipped off the bed, the young alpha sulking while the delta calmly returned to the bags he’d left sitting in the corner. Thor wasn’t so gracious as to outright back off, but he did scoot about a foot back on the bed.

“Alright sweetheart, first things first, are you hungry? Dinner’s gonna be about an hour so I brought up some snacks. If Steve let’s go of you, do you promise not to try to run off?” The man approached the edge of the bed, holding the tray against his hip, “we can have a discussion.”

Suspicion lanced through you, there was no way the offer was as innocent as it seemed. Most of the time engaging with people who wanted to have _discussions_ didn’t go well but you weren’t sure what your alternative option was. There was no reason to test their patience at this point so you nodded slowly, feeling Steve’s chest press into your back as he sighed. He lifted you carefully and set you down onto the mattress, far more gracefully than any alpha prime had the right to be as he climbed off the bed.

“Now can at least _some_ of you get out?” The alpha turned to stare back at his packmates still cluttering the attic, “please?”

They were all still for several seconds before Thor and Steve exchanged a heavy glance and both nodded, turning respectfully and walking down the stairs—another shocking display that made your heart stutter. An alpha prime silently acquiescing to the request of an alpha in front of their pack, signaling that others should follow, was a sign of an _incredibly strong pack._ It meant strong, competent leadership, respect, and consideration. _Too bad they still considered you little more than an animal._

Bucky and Peter followed with mournful back glances, Tony moving to join them looking more exasperated than saddened. Bruce went to follow but you immediately felt a prospect of hope leaving with him.

“W-Wait, Bruce—right? Bruce, you’re rational, a scientist? Please, stay, let me debate this with you—”

“Hey! I’m a scientist too! I have PhDs!” Stark balked immediately, tossing his hands up as if to emphasize the aggravation her attitude was causing.

“Tony, don’t—”

“No, you stay too!” You cut Sam off when the alpha began to admonish his pack mate, “you’re an asshole but you understand fucking logic, I’ll take it.”

“What about me?” Peter squeezed eagerly back onto the landing, “I have three masters and—”

“Peter no, no more alphas in here please,” Sam stared the younger alpha down for just a moment with a stern eye, “please?”

Peter groaned but turned back, trudging down the stairs like a teenager. The air felt clearer when all that was left in the room was a three people other than yourself, the two scientists and the alpha. Part of you felt increasingly panicked, as if somehow the quiet setting was more ominous than the previous. The other part of you realized that this particular group was far less likely to violate you while you sat half naked on a bed than the others.

“Okay now,” Sam toed off his shoes before stepping onto the bed, carefully bringing the tray with him to set on your lap before he sat down, “let’s slow down for a few minutes. I know I don’t understand what you’re going through, but my little sister is an omega so I do have a little more knowledge than most of the pack. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on from your perspective.”

Burning frustration lit a path down your spine—this alpha might’ve seen omegas as more than pets, but he certainly spoke down to you like you were an irrational child. _Why don’t you tell me what’s going on from your perspective?_

“From my perspective I’ve been assaulted and terrorized and falsely imprisoned for I don’t know how long now!” You spat, practically vibrating in irritation, “you’re trying to justify this treatment because I’m an omega but my designation doesn’t mean I deserve to be treated like something to be caught and stolen! I want to leave, I want this horrible collar off my neck, and I want my stuff back! And if you tell me to calm down, _so help me God—”_

Sam’s mouth snapped shut from where he’d started to speak, immediately folding his hands into his lap and clearing his throat, “right, no telling you to calm down. Got it. Now, where are you from?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you grit your teeth slightly when the alpha sighed, “I want to leave, now.”

“You can’t leave sweetheart, not unless we get everything figured out. If you have an alpha, we’ll need to get you back to them. If you don’t, we certainly can’t just let you go back off on your own—it’s way too dangerous.”

“No it isn’t, I’ve been on my own for years and I’m _fine!_ Not once have I had any problems, not until now!”

“Yeah, unfortunately for you our beta here has an alpha rage monster inside of him who managed to catch your scent beneath the suppressants,” Tony looked almost proud as he slung his arm over the beta’s shoulders, tugging him slightly, “if Bruce didn’t tip off Steve, who knows if he would’ve caught it.”

“Wow—Jesus Christ, you make me want to punch you in the face,” you snarled, hands clenching into fists in your lap, “I’m not a helpless omega, I’ve been _happy_ , do you understand that? Do you know how rare it is for an omega to get to be _happy?_ It’s like winning the lottery. Please, I _like_ being happy _._ Please just let me go.”

“Sweetheart it isn’t rare for omegas to be happy,” Sam was frowning like you’d dropped a suicide note on his lip, “there are so few of them, they’re taken care of like royalty, baby.”

“Plus, omegas in packs are statistically less likely to suffer mental illness—”

“God, would you shut up about that?” Bruce’s eyes went wide when you snapped at him, “that study was trash, the bias was overwhelming and it hasn’t been replicated since. Omegas in packs wear collars that force their bodies to over produce oxytocin and when that’s removed they go insane from withdrawals. The same happens with the chemicals produced by the other presentations’ pheromones; instead of being given supplements to make up for the absence omega’s bodies are left to wilt. It has everything to do with medical malpractice and nothing to do with omega nature! There’s nothing _happy_ about that!”

“Look, there are obviously places where the known biology of omega’s has holes,” Stark admitted, one hand in his pocket while the other was held aloft, “There’s a lot we don’t know, but what we do know is that when omegas are left to their own devices they end up dead.”

“They end up kidnapped, raped, and forcibly bonded _by alphas!”_ If the collar had allowed the pitch you would’ve been shrieking, “By alphas who’s packs rape and bond the omegas, too. The only danger to omegas are the other presentations!”

“That’s why they have to be _protected,”_ Sam emphasized his words with a dose of calming pheromones, and you snarled.

“Stop trying to manipulate me! All your doing is inhibiting my ability to think and feel for myself—do you not see how cruel and _insane_ that is? That you’re literally attempting to—”

“This is a lot of ROR rhetoric,” Bruce sighed quietly, obviously aiming his words to Tony but you picked it up.

“There’s no such thing as ‘radical’ omega’s rights! We just want to be allowed to exist without our lives and hormones being constantly controlled by outside forces that we never chose!” Your voice broke towards the end and you realized tears were welling in your eyes—this conversation was not going your way and hope was dwindling rapidly, “why is that so hard to understand? That chemically controlling another human being is inhumane?”

“Alright, alright, let’s take a second and calm down,” Sam requested sternly, eyes widening when you immediately hissed, “Not _just you,_ ‘mega. Everyone, including me, okay?”

It was truly a battle to fight down the ire rising in your throat, nearly choking you at the collar. You wondered cruelly if he’d treated his sister like she was an infant her entire life, if this was his bedside manner for omegas. The poor thing was probably so addicted to oxytocin she was barely alive.

“Please, let me go,” you begged quietly, squeezing your eyes shut against the tears, “if you have any humanity in you, let me go.”

When you looked up at him again, the doleful look on his face made your heart crumble to pieces.

“Lots of omegas are apprehensive at first, baby,” his voice was gentle, low and forlorn, “when you first present… my sister was seventeen. She was in so much pain and she _begged_ for help, for almost a full week. When she came out of it she could barely remember how bad it had been but _we_ remembered. The agony she’d suffered because she didn’t have an alpha through the process—we couldn’t let that happen over and over again, could we? As her packmates how could we let her endure that? She was upset at first, but now she has a pack that waits on her hand and foot, a whole slew of babies, anything she could ever ask for at her fingertips.”

“She was upset at first,” your heart broke for Sam’s sister, where ever she was, “you realize she was only _able_ to be upset at first, right? Because after a while, she probably stopped being able to process the usual scale of emotion she enjoyed before you allowed her to be given a chemical lobotomy and sold her off—seventeen, _God,_ she never even got to live and you’re talking about her like she’s some sort of success story?”

The look in the man’s brown eyes was getting darker and darker the longer you spoke but a dam had broke and your mouth kept moving, hoarse sounds barking borderline cruel words in fast succession. 

“I hope her ability to feel betrayal went first so she didn’t have to deal with the memory of her family auctioning her off like fucking cattle. _Success story_ ,” you scoffed, lips lifted in a fang flashing snarl, “that wasn’t a fucking success story you knottedheaded piece of shit, _it was a cautionary tale.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this lives up to expectations guys! sorry ive been weak about responding to comments on chapters, i swear im gonna get better about it. this isnt beta read so theres a chance ill go in to make edits later but ill put a note at the top if i do 👍👍 thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more detailed content warnings are included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers, CTRL + F “content warnings”.

Rationality within Carol’s pack was often treated like a talking stick; only one person could have and use it at a time, and stealing it required either brute force or a clever trick—which was why she and Loki fumbled it back and forth so often. Sam seemed to have snatched it for a moment, until their omega’s sharp tongue made him fumble. She was cutting and brutal, as wild as she’d looked the first time Carol saw her: covered in mud and blood, half soaked from the bath and thrashing violently while Thor and Peter tried to _gently_ get her in the tub.

The blonde figured it was time to regain the upper hand over their omega and came to stand at the top of the stairs, eyes locking on Sam from behind. He was turning the corner from patience to frustration, their little omega’s demeaning comments making the muscle in his jaw clench. It was impressive though; any of the other alpha’s in the house (plus herself and _maybe_ minus Peter) would’ve had her nose in the corner by now, bent over to hold her own ankles and struggling for balance so that her forehead didn’t press against the wall lest she earn herself a spanking for being sulky.

“Alright Sammy, tag out,” Carol made sure that there was an undertone of mirth in her voice, hoping to bring the other alpha out of his anger. “You should probably go check on dinner and—Bruce, test results?”

“Oh, you’re right,” the beta nodded, immediately headed for the stairs. “Her hormone analysis should be ready at the least.”

The moment her eyes landed on the little omega on the bed, Carol felt her heart melt just a bit. Despite the vitriol she’d been spitting just moments before, the precious thing looked like an _angel_ sprawled out in their den. All she wore was one of Thor’s t-shirts, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs and perfuming her scentless skin with his musk—she couldn’t wait until the suppressants were out of their omega’s system, Carol desperately wanted to know what she smelled like.

“Sammy?” The blonde prompted when the male alpha didn’t move, leading him to sigh.

“Yeah babe,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss against the omega’s forehead, ignoring how she shrunk back into the pillows behind her. “I’m out. Take care of her, beautiful.”

Sam stopped to press a kiss against Carol’s cheek on his way down the stairs, gesturing for Tony to follow. The genius rolled his eyes and huffed but followed nonetheless, only after tossing a wink at the scowling omega huddled in what would hopefully soon be a nest. Carol waited until they were both down before returning her attention to the younger woman, stomach filling with butterflies.

Carol had wanted an omega since she presented as an alpha at twelve. 90% of the people she interacted with thought she was such a _waste—_ a female alpha? Objectively, a useless combination. Female alphas were _weak_ and _passive,_ certainly not strong enough to lead a pack or produce strong alpha babies _._ If only she’d been a delta or a beta, she could’ve at least carried children. She’d always been fully aware that society’s perspective was incredibly flawed; she was as dominant as any male, just as potent and just as strong. Stronger even— _more recently by unimaginable levels._

But omegas _rarely_ looked negatively upon female alphas. Omegas preened and clamored for the attention female alphas provided, they saw it as more tender and careful. Carol didn’t know if she exactly agreed with _that_ either, but at least an omega would never look at her and consider her a very pretty _waste._

Or so the blonde had thought, right up until making eye contact with the sweet-faced omega her pack had managed to stumble upon. She certainly didn’t look pleased, her glare verging on incendiary.

“You sure are feisty,” she felt her lips quirking at the corners, especially when the omega seemed to puff up like an angry kitten. “What you said to Sam wasn’t very nice. You gonna hiss at me too?”

The answer was a resounding _yes_ , the cute, clicking cub growl she made only reinforcing Carol’s gut instinct that the little omega was perfect. She liked that fire, it wasn’t disrespectful—it demanded respect and the blonde could certainly understand that sort of attitude. Considering her omega’s evident disdain for modern presentation centered care, it could even be considered _mild._

“Claws away, baby,” she ordered, tone amused and the smile still curling her lips as she toed her shoes off at the edge of the bed. “Be a good girl for me now.”

Carol pressed the omega flat to the bed before she could fight, plastering herself against the half-naked woman and burying her face in the crook of her neck. Scenting deeply made the blonde’s eyes roll back in her head—the faint scent of panicking omega wafted off her skin, only noticeable at such a distance. Thank God the Hulk picked it up, the alpha’s senses so incredibly strong that even while masked by Bruce’s beta he had picked up the faint whiff of omega; if Bruce hadn’t prompted Steve to scent carefully they might not’ve found her. Carol hadn’t been the only one in the pack desperate for an omega.

Thor had been… _devastated_ to learn of the lack of omegas on Earth. With the destruction of Asgard and the remaining population’s relocation, it had been another gut punch to the alpha prime who’s people had already endured so much. He’d spoken at length about how omega Aesir were _different_ than humans’ and the tone of longing and sadness in the prime had radiated through their entire pack.

The deltas, Bucky, Tony and Loki had all realized _years_ ago how sorely their dynamic suffered without an omega. A delta’s overwhelming physiological drive was to provide support and comfort to pack members, their intuition let them _see_ their packmates in a way the other presentation’s couldn’t replicate. Their pack’s deltas were all incredibly intuitive, beyond the norm, and without an omega to properly direct them they got _manipulative._ It was rarely antagonistic or cruel and if there had only been one delta in the pack, it would’ve slid by without notice—but deltas perceived the deception where others didn’t and it usually led to dissent amongst the three.

And while Steve had never said a word, Carol _knew_ that as a sickly little beta he’d dreamt of being ‘strong enough to deserve an omega’. Bucky had mentioned it briefly—as had Tony, who’d heard it from his father at least biweekly. Steve _loved_ omegas; he loved that they balanced an incredible strength with equal fragility. The very nature of them spoke to his inner artist, ‘his inner romantic,’ Bucky had teased. Now that he was a big ass alpha _prime?_ He could deserve an omega now, he was strong enough now.

Their omega was practically a miracle, considering how few of them there were—so few _adults,_ especially. Some claimed the overall population of omegas was going up despite the overwhelming evidence of the opposite and besides, the number of omegas born every year didn’t matter when you had packmates approaching their mid-forties. Tony, Bruce, and Clint were getting up there, as everyone liked to tease. Finding a reasonably aged omega that was _also_ unclaimed? They’d never even considered the possibility, it was unfathomable.

Carol had consoled herself with the knowledge that her pack loved her deeply, found no fault in her gender or presentation. She knew it would take time, but soon her omega would realize the same. There was nothing wrong with her, she didn’t need to hide or put on a façade; not in their pack, not under their protection. Whatever the omega had gone through in her life must’ve been traumatizing, the blonde could only assume some sort of abuse, and it would be tough to instill confidence in her. They’d need to build her back up from scratch.

“You know, if you’d let Wanda search your mind, we’d have a much easier time understanding what’s going on,” the blonde murmured into the omega’s neck, nose brushing back and forth over her left scent gland. “Will you tell me why you’re so scared? Are you afraid of alphas or of packs? Or deltas?”

“I’m _afraid_ of being trapped forever by a bunch of fucking rapists and kidnappers!” She spat furiously in response, struggling futilely under Carol’s careful grasp. “Get your fucking face out of my neck!”

“Packs it is then,” Carol sighed, lifting her head but keeping the woman pinned beneath her.   
“You’re so shifty ‘mega, calm down. There are some horrible people out there, we know that better than anyone, and I’m sorry that you were hurt. I’m sorry you had to go through whatever it was.”

The omega froze, muscles pulling so tightly that she started to shiver. Her lips pursed, jaw clenching and her eyes got dim, lashes fluttering as she looked into the distance over Carol’s shoulder. It was a dead-eyed stare, one the blonde had seen before. Her baby was half trapped in a memory, tightly clenched hands clawing at Carol’s shirt and trying to force her body away.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry, come back—” Carol cooed into the omega’s ear, holding her tighter as she struggled. “You’re with me baby, you’re safe. Breathe with me, come back to me.”

“Would you fucking get off!” The omega choked, sounding both parts desolate and frustrated. “Why don’t you people fucking listen? Am I speaking gibberish?”

“I’m sorry you’re so angry omega _,”_ the blonde’s eyebrows furrowed, sadness permeating her expression as she lowered her head to rest her forehead against the omega’s. “I’m sorry, I can’t get off—you need the pheromones, the alpha contact chemicals. Even if you’re traumatized, once the suppressants you’re on start to wear off you’re going to have to submit. We need to start practicing now so you can get comfortable with it, _before_ it’s critical for your health.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry, you’re not sorry! If you were, you would’ve let me go. You wouldn’t be holding me here! I don’t need or want your help, I don’t want to be in a pack!”

“I hear you, baby, I promise I understand what you’re saying,” Carol carefully pinned one of the flailing omega’s arms down with her knee, reaching up to stroke the woman’s face. “You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to have a pack, I’m sure you don’t want to be bonded to us. But you’re on so many suppressants baby, there are so many mind-altering chemicals in the shit you were taking—”

“If you force me to stop taking them I’ll only be under the ‘mind-altering’ chemicals produced by the other presentations and—and this stupid collar forcing my body to produce addictive chemicals at a rapid rate,” she argued, “you want to argue that I’m out of my mind like I can’t be trusted with my own safety! I’m fully conscious, I’m not stupid, I’m an adult for fuck’s sake. The only thing that’s going to fuck up my personal agency is _you!”_

“We’ll know for sure when Bruce gets your test results back,” Carol sighed realizing how unlikely it would be for her to get through to the omega. “Tony’s having some equipment dropped by in the morning so he and Bruce can run some more. If your hormone levels aren’t entirely trashed, we’ll revisit this conversation.”

“You have to let me take my suppressants tonight then,” the omega pushed against the blonde again, grunting with effort and irritation when she didn’t move at all. “Otherwise the test results from today won’t match the ones tomorrow, missing a dose _will_ entirely trash my hormone levels! The tests won’t provide an accurate reading!”

Carol was shaking her head before she’d even finished the explanation. “No way, there’s a reason those are _illegal,_ baby. They’re so dangerous—”

“I’ve been taking them for fifteen years and I’m completely fine, _come on—”_

She watched the omega’s face fall when she sighed, “it’s not gonna happen baby. This one isn’t up for debate.”

“This one?” The omega scoffed bitterly, lips twisting as angry tears collected in her eyes. “Nothing is ‘up for debate’. I’m _here,_ aren’t I? Obviously against my will. I’m not even wearing my own clothes, you won’t let me move! You’re acting like this is the one bit of agency you’re planning to strip from me but you’re either too stupid to realize that or you’re too caught up in the idea of having a _house bitch_ to care!”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Carol frowned, thumb smoothing over the crease between her brows. “We’re not looking to ruin your life, baby. The last thing we want is to make you meek or take away your ability to make your own choices, but we _have_ to take care of you.”

“Y-you don’t though,” she hissed, breath hitching as she fought not to cry in front of the alpha. “I’ve been taking care of-of myself for _years._ I’ve never had a problem I’ve—I’ve never been attacked or assaulted or—”

Carol shifted until the omega was cradled in her lap, easily blocking the omega’s attempts to escape her grasp, “If that’s true baby girl, I don’t think you understand how rare it is—or how it would mean you were poisoning yourself so thoroughly that no alpha could scent you. There’s too many people out there would hurt you just for being _you;_ the only way for you to be safe is with us, where you don’t have to keep taking the pill equivalent of drinking gasoline and bleach.”

“I should have the _choice!”_

“The choice to slowly kill yourself?” The blonde looked down into the omega’s face in disbelief. “No one in their right mind would allow another person to suffer like that.”

Their attention was suddenly and brutally drawn to the stairwell, both of their hindbrains reacting to the scent of _overwhelmingly_ aroused alphas accompanied by raised voices and shouting. The omega in her lap went completely and utterly still, instincts locking down all movement as if it could prevent her from being seen. Carol sighed quietly through her nose, nudging her forehead gently against the charming little creature hiding against her chest. She couldn’t really tell what they were yelling about but she figured it had something to do with whatever Bruce found.

“Someone has to—!”

“That doesn’t mean—!”

“It should be—!”

The blonde cracked her neck, arms slipping around the waist of her omega and locking in place like iron bands. The cowering made it easier for Carol to snuggle her tightly against her chest, wiggling them carefully as several pairs of feet began stomping up the stairs, until the omega was entirely engulfed by the alpha from behind. Steve and Thor made it up first, shoulder to shoulder and passive-aggressively nudging each other in the ribs. Sam was next, along with Bucky—both of whom were being decidedly antagonistic to poor Peter who followed behind.

“Would you guys shut the hell up? What’s going on?”

Before anyone else could respond Bruce forced his way between the group of more dominant males, eyes flashing green even as he attempted to shake it off, “the amount of alpha pheromone in her blood is so low it’s amazing she isn’t in shock.”

“What?!” The omega snapped furiously, eyes darting between the people standing around the room nervously. “There’s nothing wrong with me—!”

“Carol, hold her,” Steve ordered, as if the blonde hadn’t locked the omega down the second they heard them coming. “Thor, how are we gonna do this?”

Both primes looked almost pained, their faces painted with grimaces as they exchanged glances. Their struggle was easy to identify; neither wanted to cause any strife between them, damage to their partnership would damage the pack but _they wanted to be first._ Their hindbrains could barely function beyond the desire to fuck their omega, their pretty, sweet little omega who _desperately_ needed alpha semen because her body would stop functioning without it. Primes always got first take on omegas, but when there were two primes in a pack things got dicey.

“Have one of us do it,” Carol chimed, carefully maintaining an expression that relayed she _wasn’t_ trying to step on toes. “Both of you are massive, you could do damage without proper prep and if it’s that serious we can’t wait on that.”

“I’ll do it!” Peter was quick to step forward. “You all know I’ll the gentlest and she’s already upset—”

“Shut it Spiderboy,” Sam quickly interjected, giving the younger alpha a stern look, “she needs careful handling, not some teenager fumbling with his knot.”

“I’m not a teenager anymore you asshole—!”

“Carol’s cock is the smallest,” Tony stated nonchalantly as he kicked off his shoes in the closet that faced the den, “no offense babe, just logistics.” 

“None taken,” the blonde snorted slightly in amusement before turning her attention to the two primes, “I can get her started, at least get her hormones on the right track.”

“Let go of me you psycho!” The omega howled, voice constricted by her collar. “Get away from me, let me go!”

A low, bone-deep rumble suddenly washed over everyone in the attic, the growl emanating from both Steve and Thor. A keening moan escaped the omega, her breath hitching and eyes rolling as viscous slick gushed from her pussy. The scent of it made waves through the rest of the pack, a cacophony of moans and growls echoing off the high ceiling as the responding scent of _hot and bothered_ emanated through the den.

“Thor?” Steve questioned the other prime imploringly, knowing that they needed an immediate answer and follow through.

The taller man grit his teeth, nose flaring for several moments before he let out another low growl that made their omega _cry_ with arousal. “You first—leave my shirt on her, please.”

“Oh God, oh God,” the whimpering omega shifted in Carol’s arms, likely about to try to make a break for it when Steve swept her up into his arms. “Please, wait—!”

“Your pussy is dripping for your primes, isn’t it precious?” The alpha male hummed quietly as he swiftly lowered them both to the bed, hands grasping the backs of her thighs and pressing her knees towards her shoulders. “So much slick for such a little thing.”

The whine that came from Peter sounded _wrecked,_ only minutely more embarrassing than the groans and panting coming from the rest of the pack as they watched. The omega looked to be approaching frantic and Carol sighed, shifting farther away from the prime on the bed—there was no reason to test Steve’s incredible patience. Well, that had been Carol’s opinion anyway.

Evidently Loki believed otherwise, but then again the delta was habitually prone to testing Steve’s _last goddamn nerve._ The brunet had appeared with a shimmering green light, lying on the bed so close to the omega that the scent from his ridiculously expensive Fendi sweater was transferring to her arm and shoulder. The prime had barely flinched, certainly hadn’t reacted in a manner more noticeable than a slight dilation in his pupil. Thor made a reprimanding noise but didn’t move forward to remove the delta, much to Bucky and Tony’s immediate disdain.

“Why the _fuck_ does _he get to—!”_

“You better rethink that, Ice Man!”

The combined snarls from both primes quickly brought all three deltas to heel and while Loki didn’t retreat, he did keep his hands to himself. One hand propped up his head, the other tightly fisted and rested on the bed between himself and the omega’s borrowed shirt while eyes burned into him from all sides. The omega’s wide eyes were locked on the man, some flicker of recognition fleetingly passing over her face. Loki was good at surprise entrances and even better at taking advantage of his brother’s status in the pack—not that he necessarily got away with things the others wouldn’t, but none of the others particularly _wanted_ to find out what the prime’s breaking point was either.

“I just want to keep her calm, is that so horrible?” The tone the God used was _smooth_ and Carol remembered the talking stick analogy again. “You can smell the poor thing’s terror, is it really necessary?”

Steve looked conflicted for maybe two seconds when a light went off behind his eyes. “Keep her calm so I don’t have to purr and you can stay.”

The delta’s hand immediately slipped up the front of her shirt, cupping the curve of her rib cage just under her breast. His nose pressed into her neck in the following moments, a small golden glow flowing over the little omega’s skin where he touched her. The odor of fear was quick to recede once the windows were open, replaced with the tangy-sweet scent of her pussy. Carol inhaled sharply and whined, drawing Steve’s attention to her wide, sad eyes.

The prime huffed, running one big hand through his hair while Loki held the omega’s thigh in place. “Hands to yourself, Carol.”

The blonde immediately tucked her nose into the other side of the omega’s neck, hands clenched into fists and tucked tightly against her stomach. She could hear the rest of the pack shuffling around, vying for space and views on the bed. Steve seemed entirely unbothered, his gaze once again locked on the pretty omega’s.

“Is your cunt working your slick hard enough precious?” He murmured directly into her ear, lips brushing the skin gently. “If those muscles aren’t strong enough we might have to put in a bit more effort to stretch you out. Squeeze around my fingers baby.”

Carol’s eyes rolled back when a breathy whine escaped the omega, the only perceivable reaction that might’ve betrayed her fear—otherwise, whatever magic Loki had used made her eyes shine with _bliss._ Steve had two fingers knuckle deep in her cunt, still pressing forward while his slick coated thumb swept up through her folds to pass over her clit. She shook under the grasp of his packmates, hips shifting without her consent to follow the movement of his hand.

“Come on sweetheart, please?” Steve implored quietly, looking at the loosely pinned omega with soft eyes. “Clench your pussy for me, let me take care of you. _Please_ , I—oh, _there you go,_ that’s a good girl.”

He hummed, working his fingers deeper into her cunt and scissoring them carefully. A smile lit the prime’s face when the _cutest_ hiccupping moan escaped the omega, her legs pressing futilely against his hold. Muscle memory tried to guide her legs closed but Carol easily slipped a hand around her knee, keeping her spread wide while Steve continued to stretch her pussy. Another bass toned growl from Thor reverberated off the walls and she wailed, slick dripping over Steve’s fingers while her pussy contracted in waves as commanded by the prime’s guttural growl.

“I’m gonna take care of you precious,” her low whine prompted a moan from Steve as he added a third finger, carefully pressing the pads of his fingers up against her g-spot. “You’ll feel so much better once we fuck you, I promise.”

Carol watched with heavily lidded eyes as the omega’s attention was sparked by Steve’s use of the collective _we._ Likely it was only Loki’s magic that kept her from lashing out as viciously as they knew she was capable of. In spite of it, her little teeth showed, sharp incisors flashing in a botched hiss. The prime poised himself over her carefully with a small grin, fingers still fucking into her with vigor while he rested his weight on his elbow next to her head.

“It’s gonna be okay omega, it’s gonna be okay,” he cooed quietly against her ear, removing his hand only to pull his cock from his pants. “Take deep breaths, baby.”

“Don’t—” She didn’t sound distressed, the omega sounded _aroused_ and _desperate,_ “I—”

“Shhhh,” the prime’s lips skimmed over her cheeks, down her nose while his hand guided his dick up and down her slick folds until he was dripping with her arousal. “I’m gonna take care of you, precious. We’re gonna take care of you.”

The sound that escaped the omega’s lips as he slipped into her was goosebump inducing in the best way. She whined as the head popped in, breath hitching with every millimeter that came thereafter—and there were _a lot of them._ The omega was squirming, her heels scrambling against the blankets and both Loki and Carol found themselves having to focus much harder than expected on keeping her still while Steve bottomed out.

“You’re doing so _well,_ darling,” Loki cooed, his nose brushing the line of her jaw. “I know it’s a lot but you’re taking it beautifully. Stay still love, just relax we’ll hold you.”

“That’s right ‘mega,” Steve groaned as he withdrew, the squelch of her cunt making his teeth clench. “We’ll do all the work precious, you just have to be a good girl and take my cock.”

It was easier said than done and everyone in the room save Thor was fully aware of that. The omega’s sweet little whines and cries were causing a massive feedback loop of arousal in the pack’s consciousness and Carol was pretty sure she could hear the sounds of several people going at it but she couldn’t pull her gaze away from where Steve’s cock was drilling into that pretty cunt. Evidently said feedback loop was also affecting Steve, who very suddenly growled possessively.

“Carol, Loki, _off,”_ The prime snapped barely hesitating before dropping his elbows into the pillows on either side of the omega’s head, narrowly avoiding giving his pack mates concussions. _“Now.”_

Both the alpha and the delta were yanked off the bed by their ankles—well, Carol was yanked off the bed. Loki was yanked off the bed and then promptly thrown into the wall by said ankles. The reinforced exterior wall meant there was only a _small_ dent where the god had landed, but the ensuing ruckus had a strong potential of causing even more damage. Thor immediately turned to deal with the problem, along with several other packmates.

Several things occurred in the next few seconds and the pack would probably fight about what _really happened_ for the next twenty years, but somehow Bucky was thrown through the window and Tony’s right ring finger was broken.

And Wanda—poor Wanda, Thor pushed her out of the way before Bucky could accidentally take her through the window with him. The beta was sent flying, sailing across the bed until she hit the unyielding form of Steve. He startled in shock, immediately drawing back to assess her condition—only for a heel to slam directly into his nose. The prime’s head snapped back from the force, big body falling backwards while his hands scrambled for purchase on his face.

The omega probably would’ve even gotten down the stairs if Natasha hadn’t been ascending the stairs at that moment, having heard the commotion from where she and Clint had been putting away groceries. The redhead smelled her before seeing her, a somewhat sinister grin pulling Nat’s lips when the omega ran directly into her while attempting escape #2.

“Now where are you going, kitten? With that mess dripping down your thighs,” the beta cooed, head tilting as she scented the air. “Why can I smell Steve on you, but not his cum?”

There was a horrible, long pause while the omega seemed to consider her options before landing on _Go For Broke._ She attempted to dodge past Natasha but the beta’s strong arm immediately lashed around her waist, her superior strength making it easy to force her up the stairs even as she refused to hold her own weight.

Steve met them just two steps from the top, dick out and covered in blood. The prime’s expression wasn’t so much angry as it was disappointed and Natasha hummed in false sympathy.

“Someone’s been naughty, huh kitten?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: nonconsensual sex, voyeurism
> 
> im terrible at responding to people but thank you all so much for your wonderful comments, i realize the amount of time it takes to write them and i cant explain how much i appreciate your support. i hope yall enjoy the chapter and that i dont lose any of yall on this one lmao.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more detailed content warnings are included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers, CTRL + F “content warnings”.

Steve swept you up in his arms and turned to deposit you on the landing upstairs, evidently trusting the others to keep you contained for a moment. There was an audible scuffle going on in the den, Bucky would be heard growling from outside—snapping at someone who made the mistake of asking how he’d gotten out there so fast? Tony was growling at Peter who looked seconds away from begging for forgiveness.

“You guys made it safe, I’m happy to see you Nat,” Steve drew the redhaired woman into his arms and sighed in relief, but you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement; honestly you were having trouble thinking, your brain clouded with the sudden onset of absolute and uncontrolled panic.

The moment the black-haired man had been pulled away by the delta currently stomping back up the stairs, clarity had returned to you like a slap in the face. The golden fog that obscured your vision immediately dissipated and just as quickly you’d been overwhelmed with gut wrenching fear. You didn’t actually remember kicking Steve in the face or making a break for the stairs, but evidently you had and you cursed your hindbrain for running towards the stairs—you should’ve jumped straight out the window; you had a better chance at out running Bucky and whoever else was down there than the two alpha primes and their surrounding packmates.

Before you could even take a step towards the still wide-open window, the black-haired man appeared with a green flash and wrapped around you tightly. “Shhh , pet, no. No windows for you, darling, come now—back to your nest.”

In a moment of truly unusual harmony, your consciousness and hindbrain agreed that the bed was the last place you wanted to be. That wasn’t your bed, the omega hissed tearfully, you’d never made a nest—that wasn’t yours. It could barely be called a nest, even. There hadn’t been any careful consideration regarding the placement of the pillows and blankets, there were no articles of clothing or soft items that had been scavenged or stolen to elicit a feeling of safety or comfort. Worst of all was the way it smelled. Obviously, it didn’t reek, the mix of individual scents wasn’t a bad conglomeration, but your hindbrain whined at the unfamiliarity. This wasn’t your pack’s scent.

The cohesion was jarring, and you groaned. Regardless of the reasoning, your hindbrain was aware that you didn’t get to have a pack and that reminder always hurt. It desperately desired one, but an omega’s primary objective was survival.

After all, you in all of your fully conscious state knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would never have a pack—it wasn’t a matter of wanting or not wanting at this point in your life. You were too old to be regressed into the type of omega that packs wanted, your body too badly reliant on the chemical reactions produced by suppressants after fifteen years to stop taking them. At your age, to be found by a pack meant death.

They would get sick of trying to fix you. You’d die from quitting the suppressants cold turkey. They’d beat you for disobedience until your body gave up. You were nearly thirty and that was ancient for an unbound omega and you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Especially an old dog who was bound and determined not to be taught.

“LOKI!” Bucky bellowed as he stomped past Steve and the redhead on the stairs, looking three shades past furious.

The man holding you let go very quickly after that, spinning you away and moving to intercept the furious delta with an equally unpleasant expression. Why couldn’t you have just fucking kept it together upon meeting Bruce—that blood in the water, shark nosed asshole, if you had reigned in your panic there was no way he could’ve scented you through your suppressants. Steve was a different story, but if you’d been quick and calm you probably could’ve made it.

You scanned the room quickly; Bruce was on the bed, checking on Wanda. Bucky and Loki were on the floor fighting, half entangled with Peter and Sam who were doing their best to put their own fight aside to keep the deltas from killing each other. Steve was still halfway down the stairs with the other redhead, talking to her quietly. Tony was—

“Okay, princess, okay,” Tony was wrapped tightly around you from behind, carefully keeping your head braced between his chin and shoulder when you tried to thrash. “This isn’t fair to you, you’re way too fragile for this right now. Put your head here, breathe with me.”

“Please let me go,” you didn’t realize you were crying until you spoke, words coming out in sobs. “I don’t want to die like this, please—”

“You are not going to die, little love,” Thor sounded so sad from where he came to stand in front of you. “I’m not going to bond you, not while you’re so upset. But the results of the tests Bruce ran showed that you are in danger. I cannot allow that and no matter how angry you are with us, we will not let you suffer needlessly.”

“I’m not suffering! I swear, I swear I’m not suffering I’m, I’m happy! I’m happy living my life the way I have been. Please, let me have the choice, I want to be alone, it makes me happy!”

Trying to explain to a literal God why you deserved personal agency was an exhausting business, especially when said God was as condescending as Thor. His indulgent and sad smile was nearly enough to tip you over the edge, but there really wasn’t a point in getting angry—he obviously couldn’t even fathom the concept that what he was doing was wrong. It’s not like you could do anything anyway, you weren’t built for violence but for running away. Every bone in your body vibrated with rage; the injustice was overwhelming.

For fifteen whole years you’d been just fine. You would’ve continued to be just fine, if it weren’t for some super nosed freaks crossing your path. What were the odds of the only people in the world who could scent you from beneath more than a decade’s worth of suppressant use would have a cabin in Quebec that you happened to clean—and run into said people because they happened to show up early; an incredibly unusual situation.

It made you think about Mrs. Hunt. She’d only called to give you a heads up because of the last time, when the homeowner had tried to assault you even while he’d thought that you were a beta . You wondered how long it would take her to realize something was wrong; it was getting late and you’d yet to return her cart despite telling her you’d be there shortly.

The real question would be whether she tried to help or not once she discovered your presentation. She could try to help, try to stick them with omega theft, but they could claim civic duty like Peter had earlier. Besides, that was contingent upon her wanting to help you considering you’d lied to her for so many years.

“You’re so distressed, won’t you let me purr for you?”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare take away—”

“Little love, please—”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t even know me,” you spat, turning to address the room at large. “What kind of fucking superheros are you? Let go of me! Let me go!”

Tony sighed and hefted you up into his arms, one wrapped around your torso while the other hooked under your knees and pinned you carefully across his body. You struggled uselessly against his strong hold; he wasn’t as strong as Thor or Steve, but his bicep was massive next to your head and you could feel his muscles through his clothes as he walked to the bed.

“We can’t, princess,” he murmured into the side of your head as he lowered both of you to the bed, sitting propped against a mass of pillows in the corner. “We’ll never find an unbound omega in your age range again. Plenty of omegas have been offered to us, but they’re all practically children. You’re our last chance—”

“There are plenty! You said plenty! Pick the oldest who wants to be in this fucking shit show and leave me alone!” Everyone tensed when the tone in your voice approached a shriek.

“We’re not taking an omega who’s not even legal to drink—”

“That alpha is like eighteen!” You tried to gesture to Peter, who gaped at you like you’d wounded him, but your arms were still pinned tightly to your sides.

“Peter is twenty-four, actually,” Tony spoke with mirth when Peter jumped onto the bed and crawled until he was pressed against Tony’s side and your back. “And before you ask, Wanda is twenty-six.”

“We’re so lucky to have found you,” the alpha half purred, pressing his nose into the back of your neck. “We’ll make you happy, happier than you are now.”

“It’s gonna be a rough start,” Bruce laid down in the nest a few feet away, welcoming the woman you recognized as the Black Widow into his arms when she slithered into the bed. “We have to balance your hormones, or you will die. You wouldn’t have lasted another year on those suppressants.”

“Death would be a reprieve,” you hissed shortly, freezing when the tone of the room immediately changed.

All attention was suddenly on you, Bruce still making direct eye contact with those sad puppy eyes, “I know that feeling, sweetheart—”

“We will do it another way then,” Thor interrupted, sending Bruce a quieting but loving look. “I said I would not bond you while you are in distress anda I will never break a promise to you. Open your mouth, this will be quick.”

Steve seemed to sigh in response and followed to stand next to the other prime, “I lost my chance. You’ll help her?”

Thor leveled the shorter blond with a careful look before nodding, both showing signs of deference and affection and respect that you did not care for. The rattle of a belt prompted Tony to turn you, setting you carefully between his legs while continuing to hold down your arms with what could appear to be an affectionate bear hug. He even linked his fingers with yours, squeezing gently as you tried to squirm.

“No. No, no no no, that’s disgusting, I won’t—”

“Shhh , I’ll do all the work little love, all you need to do is swallow.”

He was jerking his cock carefully, a flick of his wrist near the head catching your eye. That was a dangerous weapon, the same way you’d come to learn Steve’s was and you had no intention of letting it anywhere near your mouth. You clamped your lips shut, teeth grinding.

“Stubborn,” Peter snorted a laugh and you would’ve snapped at him had his hand not dove between your thighs, fingers gliding through the slick lips of your cunt until he found your clit.

You had to stop yourself from screeching, the head of Thor’s cock directly in front of your face. “Very. Come on now, open up.”

The fingers pinching your nose shut came as a shock, you’d crushed your eyes shut out without realizing it and they snapped open when your face was assaulted. Steve was kneeling on the bed, carefully cutting of your air supply with one hand and stroking your head with the other.

“Come on, precious, you’ve gotta breathe,” he stated softly, smiling when you were forced to pull your lips back to gasp for breath—until he realized your teeth were still locked together. “Really ‘mega?”

The next thing you knew his thumb was shoving against your molars, literally prying your jaw open. There was no way to fight it without hurting yourself, especially once he wedged his thick thumb between your top and bottom teeth. You barely had a second to anticipate the horror before an unnecessarily large cock found it’s way between your lips.

You tried to shriek, your brain finally catching up to the whole series of events, but it was no use. His scent was overwhelming and his dick stretched your lips, your jaw forced completely open. Thor groaned, a triggering noise as he very carefully pressed forward until your mouth was completely full and he was settled against you tongue.

“Suck for me, little love, just a little,” he grunted, just barely working his member between your lips while his huge hand stroked the rest.

It took a surprisingly small amount of time for a massive load of cum to shoot into your mouth. It was thick, and the way that Thor growled immediately made your pupils blow wide like you’d done a line of coke. 

Your body went lax immediately and you swallowed on instinct when a hand gently rubbed your throat. The fuzz in your brain was the result of arousal, a brutal orgasm that rocked your body at the sound in combination with your body’s sheer delight at the taste of alpha cum. Somewhere you realized that was disgusting but the haze in your brain made you more focused on the hand between your thighs rather than the indignity.

“Man, this shit ain’t fair,” Sam complained, panting from the exertion of trying to prevent Loki and Bucky from killing each other. “They get to cuddle and we—Hey! Quit that, man!”

“All of you stop fighting,” Steve’s alpha order was brutal and effective.

The sounds of scuffling from behind Thor stopped immediately and there were huffs and snarls and low grumbles but the nest started shifting all around you. You were dropped back to lay against Tony’s chest, having inadvertently swallowed the entirety of the god’s massive load.

“She’s so cute,” Wanda cooed from somewhere to your left.

“We’ll need to go over what we’re doing from here,” Steve sighed once everyone had settled, still watching your dazed expression with a small smile. “But let’s just… nest for a bit, okay?”

The word nest triggered something in your half alpha-cum stoned brained and you looked around the den with a displeased expression. It was a terrible nest; all of the pillows and blankets were in weird heaps and the scent was so wrong. You didn’t really want to nest here, your hindbrain grumbled in agreement, but you’d fix the damn thing. You whined and wriggled until Steve gave Tony the go ahead to stop fully restraining you.

The bed was incredibly soft, which was an upside and crawling across it was like sinking your knees into clouds as you collected the soft heaps of blankets and pillows as you went. You wanted everything off so you could start from scratch, brain muddled by the wrongness of the current layout. You wanted to wash the sheets, the pillow cases, the blankets, all of it. The scent wasn’t right.

“Help her.” It was a quiet request from the Black Widow, who’d also started shifting around to remove the items. “She doesn’t like it like this.”

It was easier to get everything pushed away and in neat piles with the packs’ help, everyone immediately moving to help organize the pillows. You only snapped at the blond beta—Hawkeye, your memory supplied— once for putting a soft blanket on the pile with the not soft blankets. He immediately gave an apologetic burr to which your hindbrain purred back instinctually; evidently a good reaction.

“Why does she like Clint? They haven’t even spoken.”

“She doesn’t like him, she snarled at him!”

“She hasn’t purred at anyone else!”

“Shut up, fuckin’ idiot.”

The noise you made was one of discontent and disdain, the arguing deltas immediately quieting. You didn’t argue with the chirping growl that meant displeased omega, not in a real pack where the goal was to keep omegas pleased and docile. Somewhere your brain reminded you that this wasn’t your pack but the alpha hormones filling your blood and confusing you and yet somehow all you could focus on was whining and pushing at pack members to get them out of the way as your rearranged; clicking your teeth grumpily when you were handed a blanket instead of a pillow or vice versa.

You found yourself being corralled back into the corner, where Natasha and Wanda immediately wrapped themselves around you. Thor had found Bruce and settled beside and settled near your feet where you’d built an intricate nest wall of pillows and blankets. Two of the deltas, Tony and Loki seemed to be glaring at each other—even as Tony laid himself completely on top of the other and they both relaxed into comfortable holds.

It was interesting, watching the pack dynamics as they moved between each other. Clint wrapped around Natasha from behind the same way Carol found her way behind Wanda. Peter had weaseled his way into curling against Loki’s side while tossing a leg over the man’s hip, subsequently laying it over the backs of Tony’s thighs. Sam, Bucky and Steve all found their way into a neat grouping on the bed closest to the stairs, piled as close to the subsequent piles of superheros as possible.

There was some sort of pattern beginning to form in the back of your brain but you were still too confused, too sucked into your own omega hindbrain by the overwhelming introduction of alpha hormone to your system. Instead of following the thought through to the end, you found yourself warm and comfortable and full and falling asleep tucked between the groupings of presentations as if it wasn’t totally, 100% against your will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: forced cum eating, chemical manipulation, dead dove: do not eat
> 
> hey guys, sorry for the long wait! i hope you enjoy this chapter despite it being a little shorter than usual—i was mostly trying to round up and prep for the next chapter, which will hopefully get us back to the usual length! if you want to know more about when i'm planning updates, you can follow my tumblr at strawberrysoup.tumblr.com 
> 
> thanks for reading!


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